


they fucked

by Ursar



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I have weird dreams, M/M, THERE IS SO MUCH NUANCE AND SHIT I COULD NOT PUT INTO WORDS, Yes this is a self-insert, and then spew shit like this, but do i care?!, enjoy, it is bad writing, no not on purpose!, nooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursar/pseuds/Ursar
Summary: ↑ what it says. jk, what happened before and lead to The Fucking TM. This fic is only really rated Mature because there is some weird-ass powerplay. From both sides. A bit. Ehm. Yeah.Disclaimer: This piece of shit has never seen a beta and never will.
Relationships: Strahd von Zarovich/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	they fucked

**Author's Note:**

> They with a capital t - the main character, you, or anyone you want  
> assumption: weapons can be handled only by certaing groups of people, such as nobility or guards.  
> oh and the formatting is so strange because i wrote in 100-word/drabble increments bc that apparently IS a way to trick my stupid neurodivergent mind into cooperation.

They preferred to train in secret.  
Luckily, the castle was not a very lively place. They picked up one of the swords in the armory, and went through a few steps they witnessed Strahd practice. Soon enough, They felt the rhythm course through Their veins, and no longer thought about what They were doing. Imaginary opponents were moving like ghosts of the past and They reacted - attack, counter, again, again! Block, attack-  
Clash!  
The blade collided with another.  
With heart beating against Their ribs like some trapped songbird's wings against a cage, Their widened eyes darted up to meet Strahd's.

He shoved the sword aside and it flew from Their hand. Breathing heavily with mouth slightly agape, They watched as Strahd took a few steps back and gestured towards the weapon with his own.  
With eyes always on Strahd, They picked it up and readied Themselves.  
Both fell into their positions as naturally as cogs in a pocket watch, and circled each other with the same precision. Strahd was watching, but hadn't made a move. He was either expecting them to make that mistake, or wanted to lull them into a sense of security before-  
Strahd moved faster than a viper.

The weapons sang again and they danced.  
Their movement could not compare in practiced ease or graceful elegance with Strahd's. He was a better swordsman and did nothing to let Them forget it. He calmly, with an air of indifference that thinly veiled his focus, countered and parried and blocked Their attacks. In fact... that was all he never did. He never attacked. He never advanced.  
Until he did.  
In a series of rapid strikes, he moved forward, and forward, and forward, until, in Their hasty retreat, They fell to the ground, and Strahd put a sword to Their neck.

He kept the sharp edge carefully away from the skin, but a blade was a blade. Something clutched at Their insides, dug its claws into them, and dragged them across it in anticipation.  
Strahd's own eyes seemed a shade darker than a heartbeat ago, and he stood still for a moment that stretched and stretched.  
Stepping back, he gestured for them to get up. He never withdrew the blade as They slowly, cautiously rose to their feet, their sword forgotten on the ground.  
Strahd's own inched closer, and closer, forcing Them to draw back until Their back hit a wall.

Strahd stood only a little further than an arm's length away. It was too far. Filled with a sudden bout of lack, they reached out to him- for him.  
Strahd cocked his head. He did not seem displeased, but the edge of the blade pressed into their neck.  
The order was clear. Stand back.  
Their effort only grew in a silent plea.  
Expression hardened, he flicked his wrists. A sharp, hot, but tiny pain bloomed on Their skin where the sword broke skin and blood began to flow, drop by drop, down their neck.  
But Strahd's sword was at his side.

He stood patiently, neither expectant nor permissive, but rather... curious. It was up to them to close the distance. So that was what They did.  
Their hand slid across the fabric of his doublet and grasped onto it. They pulled - lightly; They handled Strahd like a wild animal that can either turn and run and hide, or lash out at the wrong move.  
But he didn't. He obliged, approached, didn't initiate, only watched, watched, watched what They were doing, and responded to it. At least on the surface, his face seemed inscrutable, as if everything that was happening was of no concern to him.

They knew better.  
A vortex of notions and thoughts and emotions swirled under his skin and flesh, cold and hard and breakable like stone. He kept them there, out of the light, hidden from others, hidden from his own self, only in rare few instances did they shine through through his eyes and posture and movement, and They read it like the most inaccessible - and rarest and most precious tome that They ever happened upon.  
They would have stopped at the slightest hint of discomfort. His could turn deadly in a matter of heartbeats.  
But there was none.  
So far.

They tugged at the fabric. In that, They asked a question, and he gave an answer, when their lips met in a kiss.  
It was gently and tenderly hungry and sateless, like cautious gulps of breath after an eternity spent underwater, like tasting from a glass of wine so enticing you can't restrain yourself enough to savor it slowly.  
Their hand crept into his hair, black strings of night tangled between Their fingers, and clutched, waiting for a moment to adjust if needed, but Strahd seemed receptive to their direction.  
O, what wonders could there be with a wolf that docile...

But when Strahd pulled away once more and their eyes met, as if he could read Their mind, an amused confidence glistened in his, the kind with which he - only those who he had any fondness for - punished.  
Before They could catch the breath they were suddenly short of, he leaned down to their neck.  
Immediately understanding, Their oh so sweet fear turned into panic. There was no point in trying to push a man of his strength away, so they did the only thing they could, the only thing that's work.  
"Strahd," They said sharply.

It was a tone one would use with a disobedient dog, but it was more than a reprimand - it was forbiddance, and a reminder of their agreement.  
And Strahd - listened.  
For the most part.  
They gasped as he teasingly lapped at the blood drying on their skin, barely an inch from the gash. The sound of a sucked in breath and their writhing against the wall seemed to amuse and encourage him - his tongue slid across their neck in a perverse show of a lesson being taught.  
Even once he appeared to be finished, he only discontinued his action for a moment.

He stooped lower yet, to where Their blood had run and was smeared across Their clavicle and chest and resumed his ardor with an even greater fervor, now that his mouth was away from the wound.  
There wasn't ever even a momentary touch of a fang against the skin. Nevertheless, the delicious apprehension that has nestled at Their core mounted up with each long, silent moment, until they could not bear it anymore.  
He looked up, hungry, but ungrudgingly so.  
They claimed his lips in one last kiss, and then followed as he led Them to where the ground would be a little more comfortable.


End file.
